Rage
by whirlwinds of watercolours
Summary: Rage can make anyone do the most despicable things. In a fit of rage, the Baron kills Helena Ravenclaw.


**Title: Rage**

**Summary: Rage can make anyone do the most despicable things. In a fit of rage, the Baron kills Helena Ravenclaw.**

**Author: Memento Vivere**

**Rating: T for descriptions of murder and angst.**

**Word Count: 1141**

**Written for: the School Subjects Competition: History of Magic.**

**A/N: Enjoy!**

* * *

"Baron," the weak voice of Rowena Ravenclaw croaked. "Please. I want to see her for one last time."

The Baron gave her a low bow. "Rest assured, Madam, I will bring her back even it kills me." His voice brimmed with false confidence, although she did not detect any of it.

Rowena Ravenclaw closed her eyes, nodding weakly in satisfaction. She had complete faith and trust that he would bring back her daughter, even though she knew that Helena detested him for his advances.

The Baron never failed.

* * *

Helena Ravenclaw was bleeding. Her forehead throbbed in pain from where the tree branch had smacked her, and she could feel warm blood flowing down the side of her face.

However, now was not the time to fix or check for any other injuries.

Her breath came in short pants, and perspiration beaded her forehead. How unladylike – then again, now was hardly the time to worry about looks either.

Her clammy hands clutched the small tiara tightly as she propelled her tired and aching muscles forward, deeper and deeper into the Albanian forest. Heart hammering in her chest, blood pounding in her ears, she finally spotted what she was looking for: a bent sycamore tree.

Frantically, she stuffed the tiara into the hollow of the tree, before turning around to face her pursuer. Pushing back a few strands of wet hair from her eyes, she tried to make herself at least a bit more presentable, although she did not know why she was even bothering for him.

"Helena," the low, gravelly voice of the Baron echoed through the clearing as he himself came into view. His sharp eyes raked over her battered body, an impassive look on his face at the rather gruesome sight of her current state. "Your mother has been looking for you."

At the mention of Rowena Ravenclaw, anger bubbled in her stomach. Such a believable excuse. As if perfect, clever Rowena Ravenclaw would want to find her delinquent of a daughter.

"Don't lie to me," Helena spat, a scowl marring her pretty face.

The Baron's cold features twitched slightly in impatience, before it composed itself back into that emotionless mask. He took a step forward, lifting an arm to reach out for her. Moving in sync, Helena took a step backwards, her back almost touching the sycamore tree now.

"Please, Helena," the usually harsh and business-like Baron pleaded. Upon seeing that she was not going to be forced into submission, he had to use another tactic. "Come with me."

"This is another one of your elaborate ploys to win me, isn't it?" Helena demanded, glaring daggers at the Baron. Another wave of fury washed over her, and she felt her usually well-controlled temper rise. "For the last time, it's not going to work!"

"I swear it's not!" A flash of anger crossed the Baron's face. "Why won't you believe me? Your mother is dreadfully ill, and all she wants is to see her daughter for one last time!" His patience with her was wearing thin, and he stepped forward quickly, and grabbed her arm in a tight, vice-like grip. Despite her many protests, he was not going to release her this time. She was coming with him, whether she liked it or not.

"Let me go!" Helena shrieked, trying to tug her arm out of the Baron's firm grip, but to no avail. "You're forcing me to do something against my will!"

The Baron's resolve faltered slightly as she played her trump card again. He could not. He could never _force _her; forcing someone was taking away their will, leaving them powerless. He did not want to do that to his Helena. The only thing he could do was to persuade her enough to make her realise that she had to come back, she had to come back for Rowena Ravenclaw.

In that fraction of a second, his grip around her arm loosened, and in that same fraction of second, Helena yanked her arm out and started running again.

Tripping over gnarled tree roots and avoiding low-hanging branches, she could hear the sounds of pursuit clearly. She knew that he could catch up to her easily given his stamina and built, but she still wanted a good head start.

Snapping out of his thoughts, The Baron found himself staring at the empty space Helena had been standing on a few moments ago. Furious at himself, he took off in the direction Helena went. Why, oh why did he fall for that again? He had sworn to himself he was never going to be tricked by Helena Ravenclaw.

Rage washed over him at his own weakness, and his hand, on its own accord, reached for the dagger concealed in his robes.

In a few strides, he had managed to almost catch up with Helena. Like a predator hunting his prey, he aimed the dagger carefully, his brain subconsciously calculating the force he needed and the distance between them.

An object whistled through the air as it sped towards its target, and a scream pierced the silent Albanian forest air.

The Baron stared in horror as the knife went through the back of Helena Ravenclaw. She kneeled over, clutching the fresh, dark red wound blossoming across her chest. Every breath she took sent pain through her entire body, every one of them might be the last one she took.

Numbness crept over him, his brain racing with thoughts and sudden realisations. He had failed Rowena Ravenclaw. Not only did he fail to bring back her daughter, but he also killed her.

He was a murderer.

Helena glanced up at him from her sprawled position, hatred and anger blazing in her stormy eyes as she struggled for a few more precious moments of life.

He could not take the accusatory glares anymore. Barely aware of what he was doing, he removed the knife from her body, wincing as she flinched. Ignoring the glistening crimson blood staining the silver, he raised it high, and drove it through his own heart.

* * *

Rowena Ravenclaw was waiting.

Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months.

Yet she was still holding on to life. Whatever for? Why suffer more when she could just let go, and die in peace?

She was waiting to see her daughter. It was the sole reason she woke every morning to pale sunlight streaming in her room. For one last chance to see her daughter before she left this wretched world.

However, her time was up. She could no longer cling on to life. At best, she had a day. At worst, an hour.

She was still grasping on to the beacon of light, the thin sliver of hope that she might see her for one last time in these last few hours.

But she did not come.


End file.
